Bride of Frankenstein's Monster
by Hiei's Cute Girl
Summary: She fell to the magnetic pull of his madness, electrified by his craze, vivified by his insanity… but it was HIS stability that brought her to life. One-shot, a short study of Harley Quinn.


**Bride of Frankenstein's Monster**

 **Summary:** She fell to the magnetic pull of his madness, electrified by his craze, vivified by his insanity… but it was HIS stability that brought her to life. One-shot, a short study of Harley Quinn.

 **Because I love me that crazy Brooklyn lady and because quite a few people requested to see more of my version of her. I think if people read a little deeper into her character and her words, they'd see more of what I see. Still, there you have it. Harleen Quinzel… through my eyes.**

 **WARNING: Spoilers of "The Clown at Midnight", my favorite Batman issue. Lots of OCs in the form of Clowns, including Gonzo. (Also, yes, bogeyman can be spelled boogeyman.)  
**

* * *

 **One-Shot  
** **The Outbreak**

With the precision of a cat, she lands gracefully on the roof of _Mistah Jay_ 's current headquarters. His goons would probably be tearing whatever hair they still had in desperation that their glorious Boss had been snatched by Gotham Underworld's Bogeyman. It was disappointing really; over half of them had turn tail the moment Batman's shadow had swooped past. It was something her darling puddin' had taken into account while constructing his plans, but Harley liked to believe people were better than that. Apparently, Gotham's Slums made for pretty pitiful henchmen pickings. Then again, with the way the Joker always put his men in danger and kills them whenever they bore him, it was no surprise they couldn't hire the cream of the crop.

Only the crazies wanted to work with the Joker. Who could work for a man who slaughtered you the moment you stopped being funny? It made quite the thrilling job, though.

After the horrid botch that had been last month's operation, it was a bit astounding that her puddin' had been so eager to get back in the saddle. He usually went into these terrible slumps, brooding for almost a twelvemonth before he hatched another nefarious plot. Sometimes, his new plans were so detailed that it took a while before it could even be set into motion.

Batsy hit the nail on the head. He always did, especially when quoting "The devil's in the details".

This time, _this failure_ had ended in his capture. Harley wasn't entirely sure she quite forgave the Batman. He shot her pudding point blank. However many alarm bells were ringing, she was too angry to care. Batman shot the love of her life. It didn't matter that Batman had never fired a gun his entire career; he did last night.

Someone was going to pay dearly for it. Preferably Batman; if she could kill his Boy Wonder too, it would be even better. Her puddin' would be _**so**_ proud.

As she gathered the men about her, so poised she put them on edge, she elaborated on her own plans to set her baby free from Arkham's Asylum for the Criminally Insane. They must have all been in awe of her machinations, for no one disagreed with a word she said. Of course, she could hardly blame them. She was too focused on talking she didn't even notice she was whirling her favorite explosive hammer around like a débutante's baton.

Oh, who had _time_ to note her idiosyncrasies?

She smiles at them benignly; the devil beneath it and all the men can feel it. As they file out, ready for their next mission to pop the Joker from his cage, only Gonzo stays behind. Gonzo has been the most loyal of all of his followers and Harley is admittedly a little jealous. Despite nearly seven years of service, her puddin' had yet to grow bored of Gonzo. It's baffling.

She approaches him, hips swaying. His eyes are wary and she finds that appropriate. She doesn't, after all, have wholly good intentions. Harley's arms fan out and she hugs the fat clown to her almost too tightly. "I missed you," she hisses, under her human disguise. As she steps back, she clinically makes note of the blush spreading beneath his white make-up. It's a human response, to be sure, but she knows a weakness when she sees one. If necessary, she can exploit her sexuality on this man. She files that delicious information for later, in the "Control Chamber" of her memory palace. Harley has always had a good memory; it's what helped her win that fellowship at Arkham's. But even she cannot wander the halls of her memory place safely… some rooms have pitfalls. Still, her Control Chamber is within close reach of the Main Entrance, _within easy access_.

Keeping all of the Clowns' special mannerism, Batsy's most fatal mental scars and the Joker's favorite jokes close by was a necessity.

Gonzo looks even more alarmed by her sudden bout of skinship and she can't quite blame him. She was famous for her "No-Touchy" policy. Still, this was something she had to engrave in his mind. "My puddin' misses you, he's anxious to hear that joke about the turtle and the ax again."

The fat man stares at her, uncomprehending, before it dawns on him. "You've seen the boss," he gasps, and she wonders if his idiocy is what the Joker finds so amusing about this man.

Her specialty is diversion, though. If she lets him know he annoys her, he'd use it to gain the upper hand. The men her puddin' hires are rather competitive against her. She'd say " _men_ …" in that classically exasperated tone, but she understood this pissing contest. After all, she was right-hand man material and they were wholly expendable. Such circumstances were rather humbling; though her puddin' had tried to get rid of her numerous times.

Her fist tries to clench involuntarily. She doesn't let it.

Gonzo may be a fool, but even _he'd see that_. "I've already prepped. The Asylum has accepted my fake I.D. and license; I've been hired as Mistah Jay's private psychologist." She lets a little smugness leak into her tone. Even on a normal day, getting into Arkham's was quite the task. She got those credential fairly… though not exactly legally. She'd had to cut off a few heads and make sure she was the only viable candidate.

Those severed heads had rolled so nicely. So nicely… so _very_ nicely.

She is lost in memories for a moment, drowning in that exact time when Dr. Cotton's head had left a bloody trail. His body had spasmed, jerking like lobster innards peppered in salt. There had been something musical about it all, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Like a drumbeat, his leg had jerked… had jerked… had jerked as his head lolled and rolled and lolled and rolled and rolled.

Perfect circles.

To the only other acceptable female choice, she'd given her a Glasgow smile to adorn her silly red hair. No one but Pammy could rock the red-head look, not in Gotham. She'd had to dispose of the bodies (dispose **dispose** dispose), though. If Batsy had gotten wind of her game, she'd have more trouble than it's worth getting him out. Arkham's had been pressed for time and they hadn't gone beyond making calls to interview candidates and interviewing those that _answered_ the phone. Her puddin' had seen to that.

She was curious though. With his face reconstructed, would he be the same man she had fallen in love with? Would he still be in love with her? What would she do if he wasn't? Oh, what a ridiculous questions.

 _We kill him, of course._

She stifles a giggle, trying hard to pay attention to what Gonzo was saying. He'd been talking for a while now, probably for at least five minutes. It was her habit to fly off into her own mind at times, so she was a _pro_ at faking understanding. It helped that her subconscious-self always pretended to be listening.

One would think Harley had spent more time as a clinical psychologist; her perfect "listening" face and her impeccable timing with "agreement" noises. Only Batsy had called her bluff, but then… she couldn't forgive Batsy right now. He shot her puddin'.

"I want Batman," she tells Gonzo this when his speech pauses. His jaw falls slack and she almost laughs. No wonder her puddin' finds him so funny. His expressions are just hilarity itself. "I want Batsy."

Gonzo starts to stutter. The men that were left over are instantly on edge. She finds it endearing that they are so hauntingly afraid of the Batman, they believe that speaking of him would summon him. It would be awfully convenient if that were true. If he were here, she'd punch his lights out. Her arms remind her dully that she's still holding onto her exploding hammer.

Roasted Bat sounded marvelous right about now.

Her stomach rumbles, reminding her she hasn't eaten in a while. "Oh, Gonzo, I'll take care of it. If we want this to work, we'll need to face him anyway. Get ready to vacate this location pronto, it won't be long before Batsy notices we're here. Also, I'm feeling peck-ish…" She trails off, looking at him almost hopefully.

Gonzo sighs, shaking his head. "We still have some stock left. The night vision goggles are by the door."

She tosses her head back as she laughs, banishing his trepidation with her flipping pigtails. Her hyenas, previously unnoticed, flank her as she unlocks the door leading to the basement.

"You know I don't need them," she shakes her finger at him like an angry grandmother on a porch. Harley leaves her worries behind. The hunt begins.

* * *

It's easy to convince the Clowns to perform a funeral. The death of Bozzo had been taken rather hard by the group. Harley magnanimously arranged it in two days' time. The men had been so grateful, it was funny. She'd even given them the roses, one batch black, the other red; gift wrapped. Gonzo had looked so moved by her dedication.

Harley had stated she couldn't make it, but sent her love. When the roses are put together over the graves of those who died, the real fun began. Harley closely watches it all go down from a safe distance; coldly observing them as they inhaled the poison and slowly died. With a simple flick of the wrist, her puddin's calling card flies down to embed itself into Gonzo.

There was just something so ridiculous about clowns at a funeral.

* * *

It was easy to lead Batsy on. She knows her puddin' like the back of her hand and she's spoken to him enough to know how he would like her to pull it off. Of course, he can only talk in Morse Code through blinks. Sometimes, she turns away from him and stares off into space for half an hour, just to spite him. He gets so upset, she laughs until tears run. He isn't exactly pleased by her behavior, but she has promised to bring him his white make-up, his lipstick and his nail polish. That is enough to appease him. Harley knows, however, that she will be his last victim. What with Batsy already shooting the love of her life, she wonders if there is anything to live for anymore. Without Batman, how could she retain that last shred of sanity? The world moves too fast and she sees too much and it hurts… _too_ _ **much**_ …

Children trembling beneath the threat of a hovering fist.

 _Too much…_

Little girls with torn panties around their ankles and blood in places that have not matured.

 _It hurts…_

A puppy with his mother's head mounted on its shoulders.

 _Oh,_ _ **Batman**_ _, it hurts…_

A kitten mewling as it bleeds out from a firecracker in its stomach.

 _Batman…. Batman…_

A woman cradling her dead baby, trying to breastfeed it amid unstoppable tears.

 _ **BATMAN.**_

Without the Batman, straight-laced and powerful; rigid in his principals and morally upright… she is lost. Her puddin' is lost. There was no reason to withstand the onslaught of life if the horrible reality banished the goodness of people. Without Batman, love is not possible. Socrates allows that pleasure and pain _can coexist_ in a person. Harley doesn't agree. She can see; she can _feel_ too much of the pain to find the pleasure. Sometimes, in the rooftop of the now empty hideout, she sits to listen to the sounds of Gotham. There are screams, gunshots, siren wails, the cacophony of vehicles and the occasional door crashing open. She sits in the orchestra of the city she calls home and is comforted. Gotham will never change. The din of its chaos is deafening, devil-crafted and terrifying; beautiful in its own tainted way. Harley is surrounded by it, overwhelmed and buried under its cresting waves. The anonymity it grants her is empowering and she simply breathes in the polluted air.

HOME… and the place she chooses to die.

* * *

In slow motion, she approaches her puddin'. Her smile's a little too wide. She'd run into Batman earlier and he'd argued he was not the one who shot her puddin'. A part of her she feels disconnected to says " **I told you so** " mockingly. Harley has already decided not to believe him even as a fragment of her rejoices in his innocence. Her entire body tenses when she spots the blade hidden in the lapels of his doctor's coat. She wonders if he'll redecorate her face to his pleasure, perhaps kissing her with poisoned lips and running his venomous fingernails through her golden locks. Harley almost laughs as she comes within striking distance, savoring already the coppery smell of her own blood. Will he be merciful and stab her heart? Or would he be cruel and cover her in smiles, waiting for them all to speak in blood-red poetry?

The rose on his lab coat laughs at her.

" _HARLEY!_ " The voice is like steel striking rock. She backpedals, quick as a mink and just evading the upward strike of the Joker's stolen scalpel. _He would have covered me in smiles, watching me bleed out slowly,_ a part of her observes methodically. She isn't as horrified as she thinks she should be. She did, after all, plan it all out perfectly. Her puddin' couldn't _disappoint_ her with a quick slaying.

As Batman barks out his deduction, "It's a picture of a checkerboard. _Like you_ ," she pretends to be surprised. A little crease between her brows creates an H in her domino mask. She is inwardly pleased by Batman's desperate expression. Her Mistah Jay would always try to kill her; her Batsy would always save her. She wonders if Batsy loves her too, like she loves him… _most ardently_. Hot enough to burn, like her favorite exploding hammer. Her love is destructive and she decides to turn the brunt of it on Mistah Jay for once. Today, she wants to pretend like this plan was all his idea. She wants to play the victim, as she usually does, for his sake. Her Mistah Jay couldn't quite take not being the smartest person in the room.

As she raises the gun to his brow, ready to shoot him point blank in the face, she asks ever so sweetly: "Don't'cha love me no more?"

She fires, but Batman _gets in the way_. Harley really was willing to put an end to the Joker this time. Wouldn't it be _the greatest_ joke ever? His death would be her punchline. From the way he's laughing hysterically, clutching his wounded leg, she knows he understood. Pity Gonzo was dead… he would have made quite a good story.

She kisses Batman's noble mien, avoiding his cheek since her lips are covered in death. His hand is on her face, a soft good-bye, and gone when the police bursts in.

Harley misses him already.

 **The End.**

* * *

 **Words:** 2,500

 **So there you have it!** _ **The Clown at Midnight**_ **, told from Harls' perspective. I love that woman with everything I have, but writing in her skin is a little exhausting.**


End file.
